


I'm just the same as I was

by ToAStranger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Season/Series 02, Pre-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 17:39:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3777514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has started growing his hair out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm just the same as I was

**Author's Note:**

> Something that I've been thinking on. Decided to give it a little bit of a write up.

His dad notices first.

“Your hair is getting a little long, isn’t it, son?” he asks.

Stiles scrubs a palm over his scalp; the usually harsh cut having gone soft with the increasing length of it.  “Is it?”

His dad’s expression pinches slightly.  There are so many wrinkles on his face these days.  Stiles shifts from foot to foot for a moment, then pads over to the kitchen table.  He takes the spot right across from his dad, swiping the Sunday morning cartoons up from where his dad had laid them aside.

The tightness in his dad’s brow eases.  They share a smile.  It is not brought up again.

* * *

“You look like a scruffy puppy,” Lydia tells him, settling next to Stiles at the café table, bubble gum pink nails trilling against the paper coffee cup in her hand.

“Thanks?” Stiles says, taking a long drink from his own cup.

She cants her head, hums, and reaches up.  Her nails card through the jagged length of it.  It is barely long enough to stick up through the cracks between her fingers.  Lydia’s lips purse.

Stiles shifts in his chair.  His cheeks go a splotchy pink, and he clears his throat.  Casting a look her way, his lips thinned, he lifts a brow.  It is not easy to be around her yet.  She has a date with Jackson later. 

Stilling under his gaze, Lydia’s lips part.  She winces a bit, then offers a small smile.  Stiles returns it, more tight than he would like it to be, and shivers when she strokes through his hair a bit slower.  She drops it back into her lap after another moment, crossing her legs and clearing her throat primly.

“If you’re going to grow it out, you’ll need to do something with it.”  Lydia tells him. 

Stiles snorts.  “Like what?”

“Style it?” she side-eyes him, sipping at her latte.

“ _Why_?” he huffs.

“Because otherwise you’ll look ridiculous,” Lydia states, twisting to face him properly.  “Well, more ridiculous than you usually look.”

Stiles laughs softly, elbows resting on the edge of the table.  “Next thing you know, you’ll be signing me up for one of those makeover shows.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she smiles.  “But I’ll happily teach you what to do.  It’ll take, like, five minutes in the morning.  Trust me.”

Stiles catches her gaze, lets it linger, and shrugs a shoulder.  “I always do.”

Her smile goes soft.  Beneath the table, their knees knock. 

* * *

Scott is shocked.

“What did you do?” he asks.

Stiles doesn’t look at him, eyes still on the screen, thumb working over the controller deftly.  “About what?” he asks around the licorice in his mouth.

“Your hair, dude.”  Scott says, plopping down onto the couch next to him.

“Oh,” Stiles blinks, pausing his gameplay, and looks over at Scott.  “Guess I decided it was time.”

Scott is still looking at him like he might be some kind of changeling creature in the shape of his friend.  Then he smiles, tentative but adoring. 

Reaching over, he claps Stiles on the shoulder.  “It looks good, dude.”

“Thanks,” Stiles mutters.  “Nice to have you back.  Was vacation good?”

Scott’s smile goes broad.  “Dude, you have _no_ idea.”

* * *

Stiles is asleep against his desk.  He is jostled awake by a firm hand on his shoulder—not quite rough, not exactly gentle.  Groaning around a yawn, Stiles blinks rapidly, then squints up at the intruder in his room.  He’s not surprised to find Derek frowning down at him.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“To see if you found anything,” Derek says.

“Nothing yet, man.”  Stiles shakes his head, stretching his arms up over his head, grunting when he back cracks. 

Derek’s nose wrinkles.  “Nothing at all?”

“No,” Stiles replies, tone a bit more somber, lips twisting into a grimace.  “Doesn’t mean that I’ll stop looking though.”

Taking a deep breath, Derek nods, arms crossing over his chest as he leans a hip against the edge of the desk next to Stiles.  “Thank you.  I know that you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Stiles mutters, wiggling his mouse with one hand and palming over his head with the other; Derek watches the back and forth, the way Stiles tugs at this hair slightly, and then glances away.  “They’re my friends too.”

Derek nods, lips twitching, and then he gestures to Stiles with a slight jerk of his chin.  “Why the change?”

Stiles laughs, a little dubious as he looks up with a quizzical grin.  “Uh… just… felt like it was necessary.”

“Necessary?” Derek’s brows climb up.

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugs before slouching back into his desk chair.  “Necessary.”

A silence falls.  Stiles clears his throat.  Derek shifts, uncrossing and then recrossing his arms.

“Why?” he asks.

Stiles tilts his head.  “Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity,” Derek shrugs. 

Stiles’ eyes flit over him.  The look is furtive, searching, quiet. 

Derek waits. 

“My mom,” Stiles says, jaw going tight like just speaking about her hurts.  “When I was eight, I tried to cut my own hair.  Ended up nearly cutting through my ear too.”

Stiles pauses, leaning forward and folding his ear so that Derek can see the little white scare against the back of it.  Snorting, Derek’s expression goes crooked and bemused.  Stiles grins up at him when he leans back in his chair.

“After that, she started buzzing all my hair off so that I wouldn’t touch scissors to try and cut it again.”  Stiles says, half sighing the words, looking over to his dresser where there are a few framed pictures.  “I’ve been doing it ever since.”

Derek hums.  “Why change now?”

“There were two reasons why I kept shaving my head, even after she died.”  Stiles admits quietly, eyes falling to his lap.  “One was to remember her by.  The other was because, for the longest time, I was still afraid of scissors and all that they stood for.  From worry, to disappointment, to pain, to fear.  It was just… easier to keep everything the same than try and change it.”

“But?”

“But…” Stiles sighs, looking back up.  “My life has turned into a clusterfuck of supernatural hijinks.  I don’t have time for fear.”

The words hang heavy.  After a moment, Derek nods.  Pushing away from Stiles’ desk, he pads back over to the open window.  He pauses there, glancing back.

“It looks good,” Derek says.  “But you didn’t need to grow your hair out to prove that you’re brave.”

Stiles stares after him.  “I didn’t?”

“No,” Derek replies, grin lopsided.  “From the moment I met you, you have been the most stupidly brave human I’ve ever encountered.”

Stiles’ brows draw together.  “I don’t think that’s the complement you meant it to be.”

“Goodnight, Stiles.” Derek says.  “Let me know if you find anything.”

Stiles watches him duck out of his room.  When he’s gone, Stiles drags his fingers through his own hair.  For the longest time, it felt strange.  These days, though, it feels somehow _right_.


End file.
